I miss
Your crazy hair ( It fits you perfectly)
Your intoxicating eyes (I want to get lost in them)
Your beautiful smile (Especially the evil one)
Your cute nose ( I want to kiss it)
Your amazing mouth (mmmmm)
Your sensitive neck ( I can't wait to kiss it from behind)
Your **** shoulders ( I want to caress them slowly)
Your  toned arms ( I want you to wrap them around me)
Your smooth hands (I want them all over my body)
Your perfect ******* ( I want to lick, **** and motorboat them)
Your  toned back ( I want to rub it slowly)
Your yummy tummy ( I can't wait to kiss it on my way to ...)
Your swollen **** (I want to lap and **** it)
Your wet ***** ( I long to kiss, lick, finger and **** it)
Your incredible *** ( I want to bite it and slap it)
Your phenomenal legs ( I can't wait to spread them and have you wrap them around me)
Your adorable feet ( I want to massage them for you)
Your tiny toes ( I can't wait to paint your toenails again)
I miss your body, your mind and your spirit ( I want to be one with you) 22

"Can Poetry Matter?"
by
Stephen Dobyns

Heart feels the time has come to compose lyric poetry.
No more storytelling for him. Oh, Moon, Heart writes,
sad wafer of the heart's distress. and then: Oh, Moon,
bright ******* of the heart's pleasure. Which is it,
is the moon happy or sad, ******* or wafer? He looks
from the window but the night is overcast. Oh, Cloud,
he writes, moody veil of the Moon's distress. And then,
Oh, Cloud, sweet scarf of the Moon's repose. Once more
Heart asks, Are clouds kindly or a bother, is the moon sad
or at rest? He calls scientists who tell him that the moon
is a dead piece of rock. He calls astrologers. One says
the moon means water. Another that it signifies oblivion.
The girl next door says the Moon means love. The nut
up the block says it proves Satan has us under his thumb.
Heart goes back to his notebooks. Oh, Moon,, he writes,
confusing orb meaning one thing or another. Heart feels
that his words lack conviction. Then he hits on a solution.
Oh, Moon, immense hyena of introverted motorboat.
Oh, Moon, upside down lamppost of barbershop quartet.
Heart takes his lines to a critic who tells him that the poet
is recounting a time as a toddler when he saw his father
kissing the baby-sitter at the family's cottage on a lake.
Obviously, the poem explains the poet's fear of water.
Heart is ecstatic. He rushes home to continue writing.
Oh, Cloud, raccoon cadaver of colored crayon, angel spittle
recast as foggy euphoria. Heart is swept up by the passion
of composition. Freed from the responsibility of content,
no nuance of nonsense can be denied him. Soon his poems
appear everywhere, while the critic writes essays elucidating
Heart's meaning. Jointly they form a sausage factory of poetry:
Heart supplying the pig snouts and ****** tissue of language
which the critic encloses in a thin membrane of explication.
Lyric poetry means teamwork, thinks Heart: a hog farm,
corn field, and two old dobbins pulling a buckboard of song.

(from Pallbearers Envying the One Who Rides, 1999)

"granday"

its not a *******
twang,
like a rubber band loosened up,
you're like a white sheet
with absolutely no
wrinkles no
lint no
culture.

its not a droop of letters,
like the syllables are carrying old bathwater
on hunched spines;

you sound like dusty paper
left on the shelf too long.

its
"grande"
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.

fill your mouth with mid-august sweat
and belt it out like a pistol,
bullets ripping the fabric of blue
sky.
you are a flame in snow,
your tongue is supposed to be dancing on the top of your mouth
when you say it,

"grande"
roll your 'r's like you would to tamales in
corn flour,
like you would your body in mud
carpeting every inch of your soul in dark, crusted
veneer,
stuck between your toes.

your tongue is supposed to be ***.
exotic chocolate,
french rain.

your tongue is supposed to be like a wild motorboat upon
the raging ocean,
hitting the 'r's with savage animosity
                                                    "g­-rrrrrrrr-ande"
none of these
"grandays"
words like plummeting wrinkles
under tired eyes, your lips like dead fish floating
shallow and flaccid
in lukewarm
soup.
like rotting fruit left out too long,  
squashed, useless, a waste.

do not fill your mouth with
mierda,
****
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.

The wind is my lover
and the water that pivots
beneath the sky above me
could be any color for all
the attention I'm paying it.
For in the speed that whips
me about in a circle,
this world loses meaning.
As my hair gains independence
and my skin darts behind me
in the afternoon heat
and my limbs numb utterly
to victorious speed,
all my cares and leaden ties
are brought to light
and shown their insubstantiality;
they are spat derisively
into the dusk.

For the wind is my lover
and he sates my hungers
and visits with my youth
and quiets my longing
for sense with every velvet
torrent that passes through
my open hand.

And when the boat stops, I will break apart.
Would that the wind would grasp me and pull me
aft into the blackness beyond the shore.

If you look a little closer

On the sandy beach covered with shells
A group of teens are bashing gays
One kid goes as far as to say that
He’d **** the first queer he meets
After a while a tall blond, muscular guy asks
“Do you think I’m strong?”
The others are sheep nodding in approval
“Do you think I can get girls?”
Again they agree
“Am I a good friend to all of you?”
He seems to like all of the admiration
Suddenly in the midst of their praise
He states,
“I’m gay.”

If you look a little closer

Out on the peacock blue water
Rests a tiny motorboat
A boy and a girl sit far out on the lake
The boy is yelling at the girl
Leaning over her at the edge of the boat
Between them is a pink cell phone
With a text reading,
“ok, I love you,” from Corey
The boy is calling her a slur of horrible names
She doesn’t get a chance to say it’s her brother
He slaps her across the mouth
The girl isn’t going to stand another minute of it
She pushes back,
Sending him plunging into the peacock blue water

If you look a little closer

There’s a ******* the beach
She’s a little fat
You can see straight pink scars
On her thighs and stomach
She’s with a cute boy
Lying in the sand together
A group of girls park themselves
Within ear shot of the pair
They start commenting on the whale at the beach
When they spot the lines on her body
They talk about attention ******
How insecure they must be
The boy walks by the posse to get a drink
The girls stop him on his way back to ask
Why he’s with “that thing”
The girl holds her breath and covers her stomach with a towel
“Because I love her.”
“Well,” says the lead *****
“You must love everything that’s fat and ugly.”
The boy pauses
“I don’t love any of you.”
He walks back to the girl and kisses her right there.

If you look a little closer*

You might see

The courage to stand up for what’s right
Strength within
That love conquers all.

It’s polarized like a Kodak Picture
you're clicking in to all my secret desires
I slipped them to you like a patsy to a fortune teller
Am I dreaming?
Cause all this seems to be made for me
Though I hate rowing
you promised me a motorboat
a yacht with infinite wind in her sails
Soon as I toil here for a few years
you’ll let me into that life
Walking down Easy Street
with a gleam in my eye
knowing I could buy watches and bags

She is my Dulcinea, my Erato:
My fantasy and my Muse.
I am the lighthouse in the storm:
the one to guide her safely home.

If your heart is open to walk this path
take my hand and I will tell you more....

I have an affinity for the language.
Some have called me a cunning linguist.
But I struggle to craft the next line,
Words to tell her exactly how I feel.
because....
"motorboat your hoo-ha" doesn't really flow.

Must we wait for stars when our love seems enough to light the way
can't we be moons for the nights, shall we keep waiting for the day?
are we going to enjoy the beams from our eyes
or just remain poles apart longing for the moment beaming sun will rise?
must we always wait for sleep  just so we finally dream
can't we conciously dare to dream about letting our passion scream?
shall we wait for Oceans to dry,can't we build bridges
will the door of our affinity last that long on these rusty hinges?
are we enough for each other or are we going to hunger and thirst
won't we question us all the time or will we completely count on our trust?
Won't we crumble and stumble in the dark caves and stormy waves
will we stick together even when karma turns us to slaves?
must we wait for the saddened birds to sing their songs
can't our hearts sing in appreciation of finding where they belong?
won't we keep dreaming of finding a better place to live in
if we can't make a better place of the historical cities within?
will we forgive each other when we make mistakes
won't our humanity and faults determine the long this takes?
why wait for the joys to write poetry and stories of romance
can't we pen every dance, delightful or sad by any chance
Can't we do everything it takes to be closer than this
shall wishes be our embrace and virtually flying forever our kiss?
will we be able to endure the long while we only have us at Heart
until it's no longer like that, until we cease to be oceans apart?
can we always press restart when we pause and when we hurt
won't we fail to pick up, and at the first fall this love might depart?
must we wait till we have enough cash to own mansions and yacht
can't we find content in the little,in starting together from scratch?
will we hike up the hill together, toil and sweat for the fruits
shall another remain down the foot and look on as one perspires?
will we extinguish our flames or just embrace the burning desires
shall we seal the cracks,won't we look on whilst
they tear further into canyons and consequently mute the lutes?
must we wait for the mango of our attraction to ripen
shouldn't we peel the bitter Exocarp and with salt eat the endocarp raw?
can't we make the best of the opportunities that are open
instead of looking on at the flowers of us waiting for them to grow?
must we wait to follow in the footprints of tales of true love
can't we just pave a way to a new plot ,one we deserve?
must we painfully wait for the engagement ring to decide
shouldn't we be jumping onto the motorboat of life and enjoying the ride?

He has sunken,
He is flat!
(He may just be
A bit more fat.)

He may have
Knees of Plasticine
And self-pity like
An entire emo scene...

But this is a new year!
(In mid-May?)
This is when we
Stop the decay.

Let us end
The discontent:
Let us make
Jhonhary great again.

"How do I do it?"
I hear him ask.
Well, here are the steps
To accomplish said task.

One:
Go outside and run
As if first dates were after you.
Go outside and run each day.
You have to.

Two:
Speak a little slower!
You're not a motorboat.
You sound like your tongue
Is wearing a peacoat.

Three:
Shave those sickly
****** hairs away.
You look as appealing as
A plumber's derriere.

Quatro:
Perfecta tu
Francés y español.
Aveces te escuchas
Como muerto caracol.

Five:
Just... chill
With the self-pity.
No manic pixie dream girl
Will come sing you a ditty.

Six:
Learn to play that song
You're just letting stall.
Don't be that guy
That just plays "Wonderwall."

Seven:
Keep buying clothes!
Yes, you look great.
No, don't be alarmed by
Your wallet's lowered weight.

Eight:
Come up with
More steps!
Make fewer jokes that
Leave people perplexed.

Nine:
Keep writing.
This is something you enjoy.
This is where your thoughts can
Come and not be destroyed.

Ten:
Just be you.
Be that well-meaning, uneven guy
Who wants to brighten
Another person's sky.

Eleven:
Make this your
Open-ended answer,
The last step you're
Always going after.

Write these last lines
As you begin your amends.
Make this the poem
That never really ends.

I miss
Your crazy hair ( It fits you perfectly)
Your intoxicating eyes (I want to get lost in them)
Your beautiful smile (Especially the evil one)
Your cute nose ( I want to kiss it)
Your amazing mouth (mmmmm)
Your sensitive neck ( I can't wait to kiss it from behind)
Your **** shoulders ( I want to caress them slowly)
Your  toned arms ( I want you to wrap them around me)
Your smooth hands (I want them all over my body)
Your perfect ******* ( I want to lick, **** and motorboat them)
Your  toned back ( I want to rub it slowly)
Your yummy tummy ( I can't wait to kiss it on my way to ...)
Your swollen **** (I want to lap and **** it)
Your wet ***** ( I long to kiss, lick, finger and **** it)
Your incredible *** ( I want to bite it and slap it)
Your phenomenal legs ( I can't wait to spread them and have you wrap them around me)
Your adorable feet ( I want to massage them for you)
Your tiny toes ( I can't wait to paint your toenails again)
I miss your body, your mind and your spirit ( I want to be one with you) 22

Well you destroyed me,
Ripped the happiness away, shredding my skin into scars as I fall.
I trusted too much and now it's all my fault,
How could I ever hate the one that saved me, even if it was momentary.

You took a poets words away,
And stole my confidence.
So now I'll float through the night sitting on some drug fuelled motorboat,
Trying desperately to escape the iceburgs.

But the water is cold and inviting,
So let me be self destructive as the captain tries his best to fight me.
You've left me in the dust and I couldn't hate myself more.

Once upon a time there was an
uninhabited and abandoned island.
And a man ended up there as his journey was very unplanned.
Water was spread in every direction as far as eyes could see.
There was nothing but few insects and a tall coconut tree.
He wasn't there alone, he was accompanied by few friends.
Enthusiasm, Determination, Patience and Hope all were holding his hands.



The first 2 or 3 days were more like a picnic and everyone enjoyed.
Enthusiasm was very excited and made everyone look rejoiced.
But as the days passed by, he looked dull and weak.
He was the first one who couldn't even stand a week.
Losing Enthusiasm the man looked irksome.
Other friends tried soothing him while he was sitting numb.



It's not that easy to withstand such a harsh environment.
Nothing much to do and there's no source of merriment.
Then the day came when Mr. Patience lost his cool.
He also left the man there because a bad workman always blame his tool.
Losing Patience, the man became cranky and he freaked out.
Running away from the shore and into the woods he would shout.



Few days later Determination had something to say.
The man knew already so all he could do was just to sit and pray.
Determination brushed passed him while he was leaving.
Now the man just used to lay on sand & stare at the blue ceiling.
The man & his Hope would lie down in the Sun.
Difference between day & night! He could barely discern.



Though almost all of his friends left but Hope stayed by his side.
They still were holding hands facing high and even low tide.
But there's a limit of any person's strength and endurance.
How can a person stay alive when he had already lost his Patience?
He was watching his Hope and himself dying.
At night, under that coconut tree, both of them were lying.



When he couldn't even open his eyes and the sight of stars was unclear,
Hope came crawling near him and whispered something into his ear.
Gathering all the power he had, he saw with his blurry sight.
Out of nowhere, a motorboat was approaching, in that hour of plight.
Just because of Hope he survived in that dreadful domain.
Having Hope by his side, all those friends that were lost, he would regain.

i need a distraction
something to be heard
above the perpetual
electric buzzing,
human eclectic
humming,
cognitive corrective numbing
is my mind running
straight, or am i becoming
a paradox?

how many distractions
can possibly fit in
before i finally
get enough
to distract
from all the distractions
i never asked for?
millions of distractions
(from who knows what place)
but i think
i think i need to make the space
for just one more
to add the the show
because i really just don’t know,

i don’t know what to say
when asked
about the weather.

i need a distraction
but please
don’t give me something
that tries to be heard
by screaming
a half-pitch higher
than all the other screaming screamers
because i spent years holding
my breath
when my mom
drove over bridges,
my dog never stopped barking
when you yelled and
as many times as i’ve tried
i’ve never been able to write my name
with a sharpie
on my frayed black leggings
in the dark
so i know nothing works that way.

distract me
(yes)
but do it with a whisper.

because i agree,
it really is,
it’s a kicker
that the sunshine fits her
so well
but won’t fit us.

but it would never fit you or i
that’s not who we are.
(we’re just people that cry
when we look at the stars,
just some kids with souls
that hold black holes
and whisper lies
in the dark)

but we’ve still got a chance.
our dark could defy
what her sunshine denies…

but i guess it must make me sick to think about
because it is exactly why
i need a distraction

because i’m always thinking
so i’m always sick

because there’s a black hole just
of thought
inside my tummy
and it hurts sometimes
because if i look inside
myself
I’ll be ****** straight in
and all i’ll hear
is the numbing din

because my brain
won’t stop growing fuzz

because it is all mossy mountains
and nebulous fog
when all i want
is a big flat lake
and a clear open sky
but in the wake
of this motorboat mind
i guess that’s kind of
hard to find

so please
until i do find
something of that kind
i need a distraction

and though i might not be willing
to get lost in my own brain jungle
i’ll get lost in you
any day.

distract me.